


Peppers from Dorne

by Sookiestark



Series: He Who Tastes Love Never Dines Alone [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Peppers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: Two glimpses of Targaryen princes marrying Dornish Princesses. The first will be Daeron II and Myriah Martell. The second chapter will be Rhaegar and Elia.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Myriah Martell/Daeron II Targaryen
Series: He Who Tastes Love Never Dines Alone [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279793
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	1. Daeron and Myriah

Daeron was nervous. Until yesterday, he had never met the girl he was supposed to marry. He had been betrothed to her since he was a boy of seven, Princess Myriah Martell of Dorne. Her name rolled off the tongue in the most delicious way. It evoked images of warm sands, poisonous scorpions, ancient heritages, and strange exotic traditions of Essos. He had not known what to expect. 

Now, she was sitting beside him and he was sure he might stop breathing. Once a year, Myriah would send a box of Dornish treasures on his nameday. Inside the crate, there would be delightful treasures; sour Dornish wine, lemons, limes, bright delicious oranges, salty olives, sugared fruit, silk, spices, and peppers. She would also send a letter in her own script. 

Daeron would read the letter, trying to puzzle over what kind of girl she was beneath the formalness and the courtesy. As he grew older, he tried to imagine what she would look like, what would make her laugh, what activities would she enjoy doing. The letters evoked the glory and splendor of the DOrnish Court but they spoke very little of his bride to be. 

Besides the letters, Daeron would savor the foods and spices. With his Uncle Baelor as King, there were very few luxuries of the flesh. Since gluttony was a sin, Daeron’s box from Myriah was one of the few times Daeron was allowed to revel in the joys of food. Daeron would spend weeks tasting each of the foods or giving them to his mother or uncle to share with him. However, Daeron would never touch the hot red and green peppers, small but incredibly spicy.

Once, he had. Daeron had been ten and his father had convinced him to pop an entire pepper in his mouth, after saying a Targaryen wouldn’t be afraid of anything. It had been a foolish act. Almost as quickly as he had bit into it, his mouth had felt a terrible burning, intense and painful. Daeron had spat the pepper on the floor, embarrassed that he had but he could not bear to swallow that fiery thing. As Daeron had choked and gagged at the taste, his eyes spilling tears down his cheeks. His father, Prince Aegon, had laughed at him and left with his newest mistress while Daeron had felt his mouth was on fire. 

It was Uncle Aemon who had given him bread with butter and milk and slowly the burning had passed. After the pepper debacle, Daeron had never touched them again. However, his father continued to bring it up. In the most lecherous tone possible, Prince Aegon would speak to his son, “How will you ever know how to saddle your Dornish wife if you can’t handle a pepper. They taste like that, all fire and spice. You will never be enough for her. No worries, son. I will bed her and bare the burn. I will brave the Dornish bitch and see if her cunt will burn my tongue clean off.”

Daeron hated the way his father spoke about women but he especially hated it when he spoke about his bride with such disrespect. He promised himself he would never speak of a woman that way to any children he had, or to anyone for that matter.

After all, Elaena, his aunt even though she was only three years older, had shared the nursery with him. They had been best friends for as long as he could remember. In every memory, good and bad, Elaena had been in them all. She would hate the way his father spoke about women. Of course, the King had her away with all his sisters in the Maidenvault. Elaena had been twelve and Daeron nine when she was pulled from the nursery. But before that, they had spent every moment they could together.

Daeron worried about her every day. However, no one could stand against the King's decree. She could not be released until King Baelor wished it but Daeron still sent her letters and even treats as often as he could manage it. There was always a willing servant to smuggle something to them for a coin. 

His Aunts had all been released from the Maidenvault to attend the wedding feast. Daeron had wondered how long his grandfather must have argued to allow the girls to come. The Dornish envoy would not notice but Daeron noticed there was a KIngsguard behind each of the King’s sisters. However, glad Daeron was to see them, he could only concentrate on this beautiful girl beside him in red, sharing his plate and cup during their wedding feast. 

Myriah was lovely. Her hair was a mess of dark curly rings. The color of her hair and her eyes were so dark they were black dragonglass. Mariah was not like the thin willowy young women of Court. Myriah had curves. Her breasts were full and they seemed to spill over the edge of her dress, revealing nothing except promises and desire. Her waist was not small but underneath the golden silk, he could see the swell of her bottom. It was high and round like an apple or a plum. 

His father had rudely said, “I would like to bite that apple and see if it is sweet and ripe.” 

However even though his father was a rude and drunken lout, Daeron had also wondered how her bottom would look without the silk and how it would feel in his hands. 

Myriah seemed kind and she was very courtly. It was said she spoke seven languages and had brought a wagon entirely of books. His bride kept looking at him and Daeron felt like he was gravely disappointing her. He knew he was not an athletic swordsman like his Uncle Daeron had been or Uncle Aemon. Even Aunt Daena was probably better with a bow and a horse and she had been in the Maidenvault for more than six years. 

Today at the Tourney, Myriah had asked, “My prince, won’t you ride out?”

Daeron had looked at her eyes with their dark lashes and sincerity and he had looked at his hands before he could speak at his new bride. “I am not as good on a horse as Uncle Aemon.”  
At this, his father had chortled out, “The fool in motley is better on the horse than my son. No fear, Princess, if you need a proper horse ride, I can take you.”

Daeron had felt his face burn from the shame. However, as Aemon the Dragonknight won the Tourney crowning Princess Myriah as the Queen of Love and Beauty, Myriah had taken Daeron’s hand. Whispering to him, she had said, “Perhaps, you just need room to practice, husband.”

After she had whispered, Myriah had smiled at him. The smile had reassured him that his wife was kind and perhaps, they might have a more loving marriage than his mother and father. 

The feast had grown late. Daeron had been moderate with the wine but he was sure that his face was flushed with the effects of the wine. With the eleven courses of the feast, each course had required toasts and new wine. The last three glasses had been a special blend made specifically for the Princess’ wedding feast. He felt lightheaded and a bit lustful. He had noticed that she had kept touching his arm and when she did that, his heart would beat faster. 

It was the last course. When it was placed before, Daeron, he noticed it was a grilled Dornish pepper, covered with a piece of white cheese. 

Myriah had taken it from the plate. Daeron felt himself sweating and he looked to see where his Uncle Aemon was. 

“Take a bite,” she said, her voice thick with her accent.

“No, my Lady. I do not eat peppers.”

Myriah licked her lips and leaned in closer, “But Daeron, you must. It is a tradition for a man to have a bite of pepper before his wedding night. It will give you stamina and virility.”

Daeron blushed but Myriah never broke eye contact. Daeron stammered out an apology and tried to beg off from the pepper.

Myriah leaned closer. Placing her left hand on his upper thigh to steady herself, Myriah held the pepper in her right. Daeron realized his new bride had drunk enough wine to be drunk. Perhaps, she was as anxious as he was of what came next. After all, they were strangers who happened to be husband and wife. 

She was so close that Daeron could smell the rose water and the cinnamon that seemed to emanate from her. In an act of boldness, Daeron touched her lips that looked were so full and painted with the wine. Gently, she kissed his thumb as it passed over her mouth. Myriah spoke, “You are my husband. I see you have learned to not trust those who should love you here in King’s Landing. But, Daeron, I was raised in Sunspear where we love fiercely and it is always true. Trust me. I would not shame you or hurt you. Taste it, Daeron. One small bite to show your trust. I promise you will like it. It tastes like how you feel when you are in the throes of love.”

Daeron looked at her eyes, huge black moons. In them, he saw thoughtfulness and gentleness, but he also saw desire and passion. She wanted him to take a bite of the pepper and she was his wife. He did not want to eat the thing but he did not want to see the disappointment in her beautiful eyes. 

Daeron took a small bite from the pepper that she held in her hands. It was milder than the one he had eaten all the years ago. The cheese complimented the heat and the flavors mixed in his mouth in a delicious way. “There is heat. It burns but I want more."

She didn’t laugh and her eyes were huge black moons. Placing the pepper on the plate, Myriah took his face in her hands and kissed him. Daeron felt her tongue push past his teeth and roll against his tongue and a huge flame desire filled him. When she pulled away, Daeron heard the members of the feast cheer and clap, but all he could see was Myriah and all he could hear was his heartbeat. 

She smiled and spoke, “Trust me, Daeron. There is much for us to learn together.”


	2. Rhaegar and Elia

Rhaegar woke softly in the early dawn light. He had a slightly dry taste in his mouth from the wine he drank last night. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell it was almost morning from the color of the light that seeped into his eyelids and from the sounds of the city that echoed from below his windows. 

Love it or hate it, King’s Landing was the only home he had ever lived in and he knew its rhythms like his own body. He knew its sounds, tastes, and smells. He felt the strong pull of duty in his stomach and the anxiety that always accompanied it. A dark mood drifted over his heart like a cloud over the moon and Rhaegar resisted the urge to let it swallow him up. 

Mind over matter would be what Jon would say. Connington always said things like that to him when his moods would grow dark and his energy low. It had not always been easy here for him in King’s Landing. His father’s capricious moods and cruelties toward him and his mother, the Queen, had been difficult and led to his melancholy but Conington and Dayne’s friendship had always helped. Now, he hoped his wife might help soothe the darkness and fears that would sometimes consume him. 

Slowly and carefully not to wake his new bride, Rhaegar stretched. It was the morning after his wedding and he should not let his thoughts or moods weigh him down. Smiling he looked at the figure breathing softly beside him, a mess of black curls and an exposed back with warm, olive skin inviting him to touch. 

This might be the best word he could use to describe his new wife, warm. Elia was warm like the stoves near the hearth or steel in your hand after practice or the sunshine in summer. Elia was inviting, quick to smile, quick to touch, quick to joke, or dance. She didn’t seem troubled by duty, or honor, or destiny. She lived in the moment. Elia was like no one in his family. Not his father who saw trouble and plots around every corner. Not his mother who lived a quiet pained life full of duty and prayer. 

Elia was bright and happy, full of warmth. Elia was as warm as the orange sun on the Martell sigil. However, she was not vain, or shallow, or superficial as some people who enjoyed life. Princess Elia Martell had spent the better part of the last year here in King’s Landing with him after their betrothal had been announced. His father had announced his approval of the match between the Prince of Dragonstone and Princess Elia, loudly in the Great Hall, saying she was a princess in her own right with Targaryen blood. But Rhaegar had thought that loud show of approval had been more for Lord Tywin Lannister than for anyone else. His father, the King, had wanted to rub salt in his Hand’s wounds, wounds at Rhaegar marrying someone who was not Tywin’s daughter. 

Elia had noticed it as well. Later, she had gone out of her way to try and soothe the hand with her easy charming way. Having known Lord Lannister his whole life, Rhaegar had not thought it had done any real soothing to the wounds but she had tried to heal the damage his father had seemed intent on wreaking. Rhaegar had appreciated the attempt. His mother was so exhausted from years of this destructive behavior that she no longer made any attempt. 

Over the past year, he had grown fond of Princess Elia, her love of music and dancing, of the water and the gardens, of sunshine, and laughter. She was well-read and could debate with him on philosophy or science. She knew astronomy and could speak Valyrian better than he, as well as Rhoynish. Elia could recite ancient High Valyrian poetry and sing Rhoynish lullabies in a voice so poignant that it brought tears to his eyes. She loved horses and had a whole flock of singing birds from Lys. She had a big yellow cat with golden eyes and she called him Caraxes, her dragon. The cat followed her as if it was her dog, loyal and wary but still somehow attending. When he had met her for the first time after their betrothal was announced, Rhaegar had teased she would not need Caraxes for he would be her dragon. She had laughed, “Of course, your Majesty. However, Caraxes has been tested and is a true and loyal companion. I will not let him go until I see if you will be as loyal and true.”

Rhaegar had taken her hand and felt the smile on his face, “Princess, you will see that I will be loyal and true. You will be my husband and one day my queen and the mother of my children. I will be steadfast. You will be mine and I will be yours until my last breath. But I understand your caution. But you will see…” 

Rhaegar felt a sense of uncertainty heavy on his chest. He closed his eyes and wondered if he could will himself back to sleep. He did not know what had troubled his thoughts recently. But he had been troubled.

Hoping to shake the darkness from the edges of his thoughts, he decided to lean into the heat of his wife. Reaching over to the small frame beside him, Rhaegar gently whispered, “Good morning.” 

With a subtle movement, Elia moved her body closer against her new husband, pressing her backside up against him in the most delicious way. Wrapping his arm around her, the prince pressed a kiss in her glorious blue-black hair that smelled of cinnamon and lemongrass. Princess Elia made a sound of approval in her throat, low and sleepy.

Now, he would have Elia as a friend as well. As she had waited in King’s Landing, they had grown close and closer. She knew his moods and knew when to cheer him up with her natural charm or let him stew in it for the night with his books and thoughts. He had grown close to her and he hoped to grow closer now they were married. 

Beth had said to him once, “Books are just words, Rhaegar. Prophecies from long ago will not save us. It will happen or it won't. We must live.” 

“We must live.” Rhaegar had not thought of Beth in more than a week. Elia’s charm and the festivities had pushed her memories down. His mother had told him after he had returned from Beth’s nuptials that time and space would heal even the most broken of hearts. He reflected that his mother might be right in this regard. 

Beth had been gone, married off almost four years ago as soon as the Court had begun to talk about how Rhaegar's childhood friend might have grown to mean more to the Prince than a friend. His father had done it as cruelty, finding her an old man to marry her, his sixth wife. Rhaegar still felt the sting of it that she would be given away to someone who did not value her. The King had whispered to him, "We do not marry servants. We are dragons."

Earlier this week, Jon, Arthur, and Rhaegar had gone to Fleabottom to drink and so Rhaegar could play his harp to whores and drunks on the street. Rhaegar had played for over an hour and the people had cheered and sang along with him, wishing him well on his upcoming nuptials. Later in the night when the alcohol had stopped tasting bitter and went down too easily, Jon had said that if Rhaegar had wanted he would be able to love again if only he wanted to love again. Rhaegar had remembered the callousness of his friends’ words. It had taken him almost an hour to speak to him again. But it had been Ser Arthur who had said that what Jon had been trying to say was Princess Elia could help heal the Prince’s loss, that there were similarities between the two women if Rhaegar chose to see them. Elia and Beth were built similarly, with thin, narrowed hips and long dark hair. They had similar natures, happy, warm, witty. Elia was not as impulsive or as quick to anger as Beth had been, but surely that Elia’s qualities might be better in a wife. Arthur had said, “Love is an action, not a thing that happens to us. We build love with deeds and affection. In time, it will not seem so much like labor and you will reap the benefits.”

Rhaegar had wondered how a knight of the Kingsguard, sworn to chastity, could be so wise in matters of the heart but there had been a truth to his friends' words. After all, they were two attractive, young royals. Surely, if Rhaegar did things that would endear her that it would bring them closer. So, he had started to do simple things. Each simple gesture, Elia had rewarded him with her smile, her hand on his, a kiss. Surely, Arthur was correct and in time, Rhaegar would feel the love he had felt for Beth. Surely. After all, he wanted to love his wife. He wanted to show the world and the Seven Kingdoms he was different than his father. He wanted to be different. Rhaegar wanted better for Elia, for his children, for himself. They deserved better than the painful and paranoid life that King Aerys and Queen Rhaella had. 

Rhaegar leaned over and ringed the small bell on the table next to his bed. In a quick movement, he pulled Elia to him and kissed her. Her eyes were full of laughter and she pushed against his playfully, unsure and smiling, half-asleep. Rhaegar kissed her neck, tugging gently at her skin with his teeth, “Good morning, gevie ābrazȳrys.”

She reached between them to feel his chest and lower, grabbing his cock and stroking it. Elia stopped when she saw the servants through the curtains, bringing in flowers, covered plates, and silver pitchers glistening with moisture, and an unfinished question fell into his silver hair as he slipped below the covers to continue the kisses. “Rhaegar?”

Smiling, he emerged from the covers. “I was talking with Prince Lewyn and he was saying there is a Dornish tradition for bride and groom, hot peppers and cheese for breakfast. I made certain we would be able to eat them for breakfast. After all, this is your home now. Your traditions are mine. We are one now.”

Elia laughed, “It is supposed to be on our wedding night for virility. Now, my Prince, it is too late. You have already proven yourself.”

Rhaegar had looked at her as the servants shut the door. Standing up, he went to the table and grabbed a plate of peppers with cheese, roasted black on the edges, and a large piece of flatbread, still warm. Elia spoke, “Husband, I think you have the most delicious bottom I have ever seen. I could spend the day admiring it.”

Rhaegar felt the blush. “You have a lovely one as well. Let me finish these peppers and we can stay in bed all day.”

She laughed, “Call me beautiful wife again in Valyrian and forget about the peppers.”

Rhaegar placed the peppers on the table. Above her, raised on his arms, his silver hair flowed down his shoulders, “Gevie ābrazȳrys.”

Elia touched his face and he kissed her, leaving his uncertainty, his melancholy, and the peppers behind.


End file.
